


Five Times Aaron Hotchner Had a Panic Attack (And One Time He Didn't)

by usakeh



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-24
Updated: 2011-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-23 00:38:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usakeh/pseuds/usakeh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story describes five instances when Hotch had a panic attack after being attacked by Foyet, and one time when he didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Aaron Hotchner Had a Panic Attack (And One Time He Didn't)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [subluxate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/subluxate/gifts).



“Exhale.”

Aaron did as he was told as best he could. His chest was unbelievably tight; he felt the adrenaline pulsing through his veins. He could hear a beeping sound in the background. Everything was starting to spin. The nurse pulled out a syringe. They were going to sedate him. But he didn’t want to sleep. He couldn’t afford to relive it again, in another nightmare. His wounds hurt like hell, but he had to stay awake. He had to stay in control.

“No,” he said as the nurse got ready to put the syringe into his IV. “I’m okay.”

“Agent Hotchner, your heart rate is abnormally high. You’re having a panic attack. The drugs will help you relax,” the nurse said. She placed a hand on his shoulder, comfortingly.

“No,” Aaron repeated. He squirmed slightly. He needed to get up, get out. His body wouldn't cooperate, though, as the pain was too intense. He looked over at the nurse; despite his objection to it, she was inserting the syringe into his IV. “NO!”

“All right.” The nurse put down the syringe. “You don’t want drugs? Then you’d better get your heart rate down. If you can’t do it in five minutes, you’ll be getting them whether you want them or not.”

“Thank you,” Aaron gasped out. He tried to turn to see the machine monitoring his heartbeat, but it was too painful.

“Your heart rate’s well over a hundred, and you’re lying down. It should be under that.” The nurse removed her hand from his shoulder and stepped back, giving him some space. “Try and keep breathing deeply. Concentrate on something that comforts you.”

Aaron tried to draw in a deep breath, but the tightness in his chest wouldn’t allow it. His breathing grew shallower and more rapid; in tandem with that, the machine beeped more and more often, and more loudly. Aaron wanted to grab the infernal device just so that he could make the noise stop, but he was barely strong enough to sit up for short periods of time. There was no way he would be able to break it.

“You have a son, right?”

Aaron nodded.

“Do you get along?”

Another nod.

“Think about him, then,” the nurse instructed.

The memories came flooding back. The knowledge that they could be in danger. In danger because of his job, because of him.

“Not safe,” Aaron gasped. “They’re not safe.”

“All right, Agent Hotchner. I’m revoking your pass to make yourself suffer.” She picked up the syringe again. “I’m going to give you the drugs now.”

“They’re not safe,” Aaron repeated, frantically attempting to sit up. The nurse gently pushed him back down onto his bed. “Can’t breathe,” Aaron added; then, everything started to spin, faster and faster and faster until it all went black.

When he came to again, he felt foggy but undeniably calmer.

“Welcome back, Agent Hotchner,” the nurse said, smiling down at him. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now why don’t you try and get some real rest? Your body needs to recover.”

Aaron didn’t answer; instead, he simply slipped back into sleep.

* * *

“Are you sure that you don’t want me to come inside with you?” Dave asked, scrutinizing Aaron.

“Yes,” Aaron replied. “I appreciate the offer, but I should be fine.”

“All right.” Dave parked the car right outside of Aaron’s apartment building. “Go get some rest,” he added. “You look like hell.”

“Will do.” Aaron unbuckled his seatbelt, opened the door, and stepped gingerly out of the car. “Thanks for the ride, Dave.”

“No problem. Good night, Aaron.”

“Good night,” Aaron replied, and then shut the car door. He turned away from the car once it pulled out into the road again and towards his apartment building. It took him a few minutes to realize that somewhere, deep down, he was dreading the moment he’d have to open the door and step back into the place where he’d been stabbed. He didn’t fully recognize it until he was standing at the door to his apartment, turning the key in the lock. He took a deep breath. It would be okay, now; he’d caught it in time, so he’d be able to stop himself from overreacting to anything.

But the minute he actually laid eyes upon the spot where he’d been stabbed, and saw the hole in the wall that Foyet’s bullet had left behind, his body informed him that he couldn’t have been more wrong. His heart started racing; he began to sweat, and shake; he felt horribly nauseous. And he couldn’t breathe. That was the toughest part to control. He’d tried various different strategies in the hospital, but nothing had worked. They’d offered him a prescription for an anxiolytic, in addition to the painkillers, when he was leaving the hospital; he’d refused to take it. That would make it all too real.

So now here he was, entirely alone, feeling that bastard stab him all over again. Aaron shut his eyes and reopened them in an effort to chase away the images; that didn’t work, either. He felt himself growing faint from the lack of oxygen, so he stumbled over to the sofa and collapsed down upon it. That way, were he to pass out, he wouldn’t end up hurting himself.

Aaron pulled his cell phone out of his pocket with trembling hands and stared at it for a few seconds before tossing it onto the floor. Who could he possibly call? He couldn’t call any of his subordinates at the BAU. Dave, who he considered an equal, was more of an option. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t share this, not even with Dave. He wasn’t ashamed, per se; it was just, well, private. It was something he’d have to learn to deal with before going back to work; otherwise, he’d really need to get good at concealing it.

* * *

He was exhausted. But as the plane took off, Aaron knew that the last thing in the world he could do was fall asleep. Almost every time he did, he dreamed about it. Waking from the nightmares was never easy. He’d find himself lying in a cold sweat, or end up shaking uncontrollably for longer than he’d want to admit. When he was home, alone, it didn’t matter how undignified he appeared after the nightmares or the occasional flashbacks, but he was back with his team now.

Maybe it was merely vanity; somehow, however, he doubted it. He knew that if he were to display any signs of the PTSD he knew he had, they’d start second-guessing him even more than they already did. He had to keep it from them. He had to keep it from a team of brilliant, well-trained profilers. So he’d stay awake, no matter what.

At least, that’s what he thought until his eyes shut and he drifted off into a deep sleep.

The next thing Aaron knew, Reid’s hand was on his shoulder, steadying him. Everything was spinning; he couldn’t speak, couldn’t even breathe. Reid was speaking to him, but Aaron couldn’t understand anything he was saying. He pushed Reid away without a word and stumbled to his feet. He needed privacy. He couldn’t let them see him go through this. He rushed into the plane’s small bathroom and shut the door behind him.

As soon as he did so, he slid down onto the floor. His breathing was shallow and rapid. He had to control it. He had to, or he was going to pass out; that, he now knew from experience. Aaron hit the floor as hard as he could with a clenched fist, and tried to focus on the resulting pain. It wasn’t enough. He still couldn't breathe.

Aaron shut his eyes. The adrenaline had left a bitter taste in his mouth. His stomach churned. Seconds later, he was bent over the toilet bowl, vomiting up the few morsels of food he’d managed to make himself eat at dinnertime. When the nausea finally abated, Aaron passed out completely, collapsing onto the floor.

When he came to, his chest was still far too tight. But he could move again. He stood up slowly and looked at himself in the small mirror; as he suspected, he was white as a sheet. He held out his hands; they were still trembling. A single bead of sweat trickled down his forehead; shakily, he wiped it away. He had to appear composed. Once he was satisfied that he could fake it well enough to get through the rest of the flight, he exited the bathroom.

He felt every single team member watching him as he made his way back to his seat. Nobody asked him whether or not he was all right. Nobody spoke.

* * *

“The man we’re looking for works in an environment where he has constant access to children,” Aaron began. “He works a low-paying job that he feels is beneath him. He could be a janitor at a school or an amusement park, for instance.” As he spoke, Aaron suddenly found himself visualizing Foyet’s face as he stood over him, knife in hand. A tremor ran through him, but he forced himself to remain still. His chest was tightening; in response, he drew in the deepest breath he could before adding, “He doesn’t appear threatening to either children or adults.”

Reid took it from there. Aaron didn’t know what he was saying; he couldn’t understand, couldn’t comprehend anything but pure panic. He stared straight ahead. He couldn’t let this get out of control, not now. He’d have to make it through this, and then he could go and relax somewhere. But first he had to get through this. He was starting to shake; that was absolutely unacceptable. He had to make his mind go elsewhere, at least for five more minutes.

He started trying to mentally list all the cases he’d prosecuted before coming to the BAU, in alphabetical order. That helped a little. Dave was speaking now. Then Prentiss would make her contribution. Then they’d be done. He’d walk past the cameras, past the people, and find a quiet place where he could calm down. That’s all he needed. Ten – no, five – minutes in a quiet place. He’d be fine after that. He had to be fine after that. He had no other option.

“That’s all we have for now,” Prentiss said after what felt like forever.

“Thank you all,” Aaron said, keeping his voice perfectly level. As soon as people began to disperse, he briskly cut a path through them and went into the closest quiet place he saw: namely, an unused interrogation room. He felt his legs buckling beneath him; not a second too soon, he sat down. He was perspiring heavily. He coughed; just as he did so, he looked up and saw that JJ was knocking on the door. As steadily as he could, he said, “Come in, JJ. What do you need?” Aaron asked.

“To be honest, nothing, at the moment.” JJ placed a plastic cup filled with water on the table. “I just brought you some water.”

“Thank you.” He could have asked her why. He could have said that he was fine and didn’t need anything at all. But that would have taken too much effort, so he simply accepted her small gesture.

“Hotch,” JJ said, eyes meeting his, “are you doing all right? We’d all completely understand if you wanted to take a break, you know.”

“I’m fine, thank you, JJ,” Aaron lied. He took a sip of water. “Why don’t you rejoin the rest of the team? I’ll be right over, myself.”

“Okay.” JJ smiled awkwardly before exiting the small room.

Aaron breathed a sigh of relief. That had been close. Too close. But he’d made it through and, right now, that was all that mattered.

* * *

The sky was cloudless, and the air was clear. Aaron sat down on the park bench and took a deep breath. He used to take Jack here as often as he could. He could practically see Jack going down the yellow slide, or sitting on one of the swings. Only it wasn’t Jack. It was somebody else’s child. Aaron felt a pang of pain sweep through him. Months had passed, but he was no closer to finding Foyet, no closer to being able to reunite with his son. He spent so much of his time simply treading water, doing his best not to drown outright. Consequently, he wasn’t able to concentrate on the search. But he had to stop letting himself slip this way. He had to focus.

Then again, how could he when every moment had the potential to trigger pure panic in him? He had to stop. He had to stop. It was stopping him from doing good work on their cases, and it was making it impossible to make the effort to find Foyet. But what if he couldn’t make it stop? He’d tried everything short of seeing a psychiatrist. But he couldn’t be on tranquilizers and be out in the field; he just couldn’t. Aaron stared down glumly at the ground. He was going to be separated from Jack forever, and it would be his own fault. It would be his own damn fault for being so weak.

As the thoughts whirled, Aaron felt the now familiar tightness begin to take hold of his chest. He tried to take a deep breath, and failed. Foyet had destroyed him, hadn’t he? He’d left him unable to stay in control of his own mind, his own body. He felt himself start to sweat; his hands shook uncontrollably. His body was ready to start sprinting; his mind was urging him to get up, to run far away from this place. But he couldn’t listen to either. He couldn’t let himself get accustomed to giving in; he had to fight it with every bit of strength he had left.

He sat there fighting it until the sun began to set. He could have gone home. He could have hidden somewhere. But it was important that he let his broken brain know that he was still in control, at least to some extent. He had to have that. Without it, he’d truly have absolutely nothing left.

* * *

By the time Aaron returned to his apartment, it was dark. He turned on one light and crashed down onto the couch. The panicky feelings had yet to completely subside, but they were significantly less severe than they’d been at the park. That was something, at least. Aaron rubbed his forehead. His head hurt, and he was exhausted. He was going to fall asleep whether he liked it or not; he could only hope that, this time, he wouldn’t wake terrified.

Five minutes later, his cell rang. His every muscle tensed, and his heart raced. He took a deep breath before looking to see who was calling him. Dave. His chest tightened as raised the phone to his ear and said, “What’s going on, Dave?”

“You want some company?” Dave asked.

“Not particularly,” Aaron admitted. “Why?”

“I was hoping you’d come over to my place for dinner. We could order Chinese. Relax.”

“You’re checking up on me, aren’t you?” Aaron drew in a slow, deep breath. “I’m fine, Dave.”

“I can’t ask my friend over for dinner without being accused of ‘checking up’ on him?” Dave paused. “Listen, Aaron. I don’t need to ask you to dinner to know how you’re doing. I already know that you’re miserable. Don’t think that I don’t notice what’s going on with you. Up until now, I’ve let you save face by not mentioning it, but those days are over, friend.” When Aaron didn’t answer, Dave asked, “So, will you come to me or should I go over to you?”

“You can come here.” Aaron didn’t have the energy to argue with any of Dave’s claims. It was so much easier just to give in, and he had to admit that it felt good to be able to stop pretending that everything was fine.

“It just happened, didn’t it?” Dave asked.

“What just happened?” Aaron responded.

“You are not going to play this game with me. You had a panic attack recently, didn’t you? Barring an event like that, there’s no way you’d let me come over.” Dave sighed heavily.

“I’ll be fine.”

“You know, there are people you can see about issues like these, Hotch,” Dave said. “And nobody – nobody – would allow that to cost you your job, if that’s what concerns you.”

“I’ll be fine, Dave,” Aaron said. He was sweating, and his hands were trembling. It was starting again. But he’d get through it; he always did. He didn’t need anybody to help him. He was always fine, in the end.

“That’s bullshit.” Dave sighed again. “I’ll be there soon,”

A few minutes later, Aaron opened the door and ushered Dave into his apartment. His anxiety level was uncomfortably high, but it had yet to erupt into a second full-fledged panic attack.

“Did you get the license plate number?” Dave asked.

“What?”

“The license plate number of the truck that ran you over, Aaron. You look terrible.” Dave placed a plastic bag on Aaron’s kitchen counter. “Chinese. But let me guess: you’re not hungry now, are you?”

“Not particularly, no,” Aaron admitted.

“Adrenaline will do that to you.” Dave sighed before approaching Aaron. “I wish you’d let us help you.”

“Have the others noticed?” Aaron asked, feeling his anxiety increase even more at the thought of that.

“To some extent, they have. You lead a team of profilers. You’ve got a great poker face, but there are some things you can’t hide from minds as sharp as theirs.” Dave looked at Aaron concernedly, then added, “It’s okay. It’s totally understandable, after everything you’ve experienced.”

“No, it’s not. It’s not okay.” Aaron forced himself to pause and take a deep breath. He was beginning to shake, so he sat back down on the sofa. “I can’t solve cases this way. I can’t find Foyet this way. I’m never going to see my son again.”

“It gets better.” Dave joined Aaron on the sofa. “It’d get better a lot faster if you weren’t too proud to see somebody about it, but even if you don’t see anyone, it’ll get better, eventually.”

“I don’t have the time for ‘eventually,’” Aaron said, shutting his eyes. His heart was racing, and he was beginning to feel nauseous. “No,” he muttered, more to himself than to Dave. “Not again.”

“Breathe, Aaron.” Dave reached out and placed a hand on Aaron’s shoulder. “I’m going to get you a glass of water, okay? You lie down and just keep taking deep breaths.”

“Dave, I–”

“Don’t speak.” Dave disappeared for a few moments; when he returned, he raised a glass of water to Aaron’s lips, and let him take a few sips. “I’m here, okay? I’m here.”

“Thank you.”

When Aaron finally fell asleep, for the first time since he left the hospital, he did not dream.


End file.
